


Not A Porn Star

by KuriKuri



Series: Sterek Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Implied Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Panties, Smut, model!Stiles, photographer!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/pseuds/KuriKuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, how do I look?” Stiles asks, doing a slow turn.</p><p>Derek almost forgets to respond, he’s so distracted by the way the black lace clings to Stiles’ ass and stretches over his hips.</p><p>“Since when are you an underwear model?” Derek finally manages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Porn Star

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://authorkurikuri.tumblr.com/post/108615277550/sterek-au-model-stiles-photographer-derek).

“Derek! Just the man I was looking for!”

Derek closes his eyes and lets out a small sigh. He clutches his coffee cup a little tighter and turns to the person addressing him, hoping that, by some miracle, it’s not who he thinks it is.

Unfortunately, it is.

“Stiles,” Derek says, his tone as painfully neutral as he can make it. That is to say, very neutral, although maybe a little on the icy side.

“Right, so, I need you to do me a favor,” Stiles barrels on, and, really, Derek should be used to this by now. He and Stiles have done a dozen shoots together in the past year alone. Then again, every one of those shoots was a torturous exercise in self-restraint, so maybe it’s not all that strange that he’s still not used to being around Stiles, with his big amber eyes and horribly distracting lips.

Idly, Derek wishes that Stiles would get his hair buzzed again, so he could spend shoots focusing on how horrible his hair looked instead of how much he’d like to fuck Stiles up against a wall. Or be fucked against a wall – he’s not picky.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, pulling Derek back out of his thoughts – thankfully before the situation really becomes embarrassing.

“What’s the favor?” Derek replies, doing his best to pull himself together.

“You know Daehler, right?” Stiles says, giving Derek a pleading look.

“Yes,” Derek answers, a little skeptical. He has no clue where this conversation is going, after all.

“Well, he’s supposed to be the photographer for my next shoot,” Stiles explains, and Derek can’t help but notice how he’s wringing his hands nervously. “But the problem is, he kind of creeps me out sometimes, and my next shoot is going to be kind of – well. I was just wondering if you could do it instead.”  
“If he’s already been assigned – ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off.

“C’mon, you’re our head photographer! Plus, Lydia likes you way better than Daehler, so if you just asked…” Stiles says, looking at Derek with his big, whiskey colored bambi eyes.

Derek clenches his jaw. They’re his ultimate weakness, which Stiles must know, goddamn it.

“Fine,” Derek sighs, giving into Stiles far quicker than he probably should.

“Yes! Thank you so much!” Stiles exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “Seriously dude, I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t,” Derek grunts, hoping that his cheeks aren’t starting to flush red.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Stiles says, still grinning. “Or a virtue saver. Maybe both.”

“What’s the shoot?” Derek asks, feeling a little nervous when Stiles’ grin turns a bit more mischievous.

“You’ll find out on Friday at nine am,” Stiles answers with a wink.

Derek already has a bad feeling about this.

—-

Derek never should have agreed to this. He’s made it through a lot of difficult photo shoots with Stiles, but this one – this one takes the cake. It’s worse than the one where he’d kept chewing on his hoodie strings, worse than the one at the gas station when he’d had oil streaks across his face, worse even than the wet t-shirt one.

Because, fuck, if Stiles was worried about Daehler creeping on him, then Derek must be better at disguising his attraction than he thought he was. There’s no way Stiles won’t be able to notice it this time, though.

Still, if Stiles is going to request to never shoot with him again, this is one hell of a shoot to go out with.

“So, how do I look?” Stiles asks, doing a slow turn.

Derek almost forgets to respond, he’s so distracted by the way the black lace clings to Stiles’ ass and stretches over his hips.

“Since when are you an underwear model?” Derek finally manages, cursing how obviously aroused his voice sounds.

“Really?” Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m just doing this one shoot, though. A friend of mine has this campaign to break down the gender binary and masculine stereotypes and all that jazz, so I figured I’d help him out.”

Part of Derek is disappointed that Stiles won’t be dressing up in lingerie anymore, but at the same time, he can’t help but want to keep Stiles all to himself when he’s dressed up like this.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” Stiles continues, looking at Derek expectantly.

“You look fine,” Derek finally says, eyes fixed firmly on his camera as he fiddles with it.

“Fine?” Stiles repeats, sounding mildly offended. “ _Fine?_ What sort of answer is that! Not gorgeous – ”

Stiles takes a step towards Derek.

“ – or sexy – ”

Another step.

“ – delectable – ”

Even closer.

“ – irresistible – ”

He’s so close Derek could touch him now.

“ – fuckable, even.”

There are only a few inches of space between them now, and it’s all Derek can do not to drop his precious camera as he feels Stiles’ breath ghost over his ear.

“We’re not – you’re a model, not a _porn star_ ,” Derek stutters, absolutely certain his cheeks are bright red now.

(Actually, he’s pretty sure he’s seen this porno – the one where the model seduces the photographer and they have very athletic sex on set. Derek does his best to avoid looking over at the bed Stiles will be draped over in a few moments.)

“Are you saying I _couldn’t_ be a porn star?” Stiles asks, quirking an eyebrow at Derek, because _of course_ this is the direction he’s going to take the conversation is.

“I’m sure you could – ah, I don’t mean – you’re objectively attractive and – ” Derek replies, completely flustered, but Stiles is smiling like the cat who got the canary.

“So if I was in a porno, you’d watch it?” Stiles interrupts, his eyes shining with mischievous mirth.

“No,” Derek replies, maybe a little too quickly.

“Right,” Stiles says, his voice suddenly flat as all traces of a smile disappear from his face. “Well, we should probably get this show on the road.”

Derek tries to hide a wince at Stiles’ sudden shift in mood. But, really, what was he supposed to say? That if Stiles ever made a porno, it would probably ruin him for porn – and even sex – for the rest of his life? Fuck, this photo shoot might do that by itself.

“So, how do you want me?” Stiles asks, flopping back against the bed. Derek’s breath hitches and he feels his cock twitch in his jeans. Fuck, this shoot is going to be a disaster.

“As you are,” Derek answers, already bringing his camera up capture Stiles in his catlike sprawl. “Do what feels natural.”

“What feels natural?” Stiles snorts, glancing back over at Derek. “‘cause I’ve gotta tell you, if I was going for ‘natural’ I’d already have a hand in my panties.”

“We’re not shooting softcore,” Derek says, to remind himself just as much as Stiles.

“You just have to suck the fun out of everything, don’t you?” Stiles shoots back, although he’s grinning lazily as he rolls over onto this stomach, arching his back just so.

If Derek takes a few close ups of Stiles’ lace-clad ass, well, he’ll delete them later. Really.

Derek takes a few more shots of Stiles in some other poses before he allows Lydia to whisk Stiles away for a wardrobe change while he slinks away to the bathroom. He splashes some cold water on his face as he wills himself to calm down.

“Fuck,” he mutters, wishing that he’d worn looser pants today. He’s half-hard already and they’ve only been through one outfit. Knowing Lydia, there are at least four more to go.

Screwing his eyes shut, he does his best to conjure up images of bloody horror movies, creepy-crawly insects, and Matt Daehler’s face.

(It’s Daehler’s face which does the trick, surprisingly enough. Although maybe that’s because he’s reminded of how much Stiles hates having Daehler creep on him – which is essentially what Derek’s doing at the moment. Fuck.)

When he’s finally managed to calm himself down, he steps back out on set, confident that he’s now prepared for whatever Stiles will throw at him next.

He’s really, really not.

Because he was under the impression that nothing on earth could make Stiles’ lips more obscene than they already are. Apparently he had not considered bright red lipstick.

Derek thinks about Matt Daehler _really hard_. Unfortunately, it’s not as effective as last time.

And the _stockings_. They’re thigh high and lacy and Derek’s not sure if he’s died and gone to heaven or hell. Probably hell.

He resolutely ignores the garter belt. Or, well, he ignores it as much as he can, considering he’s the photographer. As it is, he’s probably gaping unattractively.

(He also now knows that Stiles has a constellation of moles on his left inner thigh. He’s always wondered about that.)

“So, what about this one?” Stiles asks, hands on his hips.

“It’s… nice,” Derek manages once he realizes he’s being addressed.

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement from ‘fine,’” Stiles snorts, and Derek feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment, because, fuck, the things he wants to say to Stiles about how he looks right now…

“Just get on the bed,” Derek snaps, trying to cover how flustered he is.

“Oooh, bossy,” Stiles says, smirking, but he complies.

“Sit back against the headboard,” Derek orders, his tone more than a little brusque.

“Legs together or apart?” Stiles asks, and Derek has to clench his jaw for a moment to avoid letting out any embarrassing sounds.

“Apart,” he finally manages, his voice rough, “but look confident, not coy.”

“Like someone’s about to blow me, then?” Stiles asks, his smirk growing even wider.

“I thought we’d already established that this isn’t softcore,” Derek huffs, doing his best to not think about blowing Stiles, mouthing at him through the thin material of his panties.

“Did we?” Stiles replies, clearly amused.

“We did,” Derek answers, his tone a little snappish.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles huffs, tilting his head back a bit so that the pale expanse of his skin is on display. Derek’s pretty sure he’s never wanted to bite something more in his life – and this includes Laura’s special triple chocolate cake.

“Seriously, though, what crawled up your ass and died?” Stiles continues, frowning now, and Derek can’t help but feel a little guilty that he’s put that expression on Stiles’ face. “Or is it that you _haven’t_ had anything up your ass recently?”

Derek just barely manages to keep from asking Stiles if he’s offering.

“Are you saying I need to get laid?” Derek says instead.

“It always helps me relax,” Stiles replies casually.

“Yeah, well, some of us don’t do casual sex,” Derek snaps, and there’s a distinct finality to his tone. Stiles has the decency to look a little chagrined.

They don’t talk for the rest of the shoot, except for when Derek asks Stiles to change poses or tilt his body a certain way. At the end of the shoot, Derek still has to awkwardly jerk off in the bathroom, though, valiantly trying not to think of Stiles’ lithe body spread out over a bed and clad in thin scraps of lace. He mostly fails.

When he walks out of the bathroom, though, he almost runs into Stiles.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Derek mutters, hoping that his cheeks aren’t all splotchy and that he doesn’t smell like spunk.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Stiles says, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“For what?” Derek asks, confused.

“For harassing you today, particularly when you were doing me a favor,” Stiles answers, a faint bit of pink dusting his cheeks. “I just thought – ” He cuts himself off.

“What did you think?” Derek asks, frowning.

“Never mind. Just – sorry. And thanks,” Stiles replies, giving Derek a weak smile.

He leaves before Derek can ask what he means by that.

—-

Derek can’t help but swipe a copy of the magazine with Stiles’ shoot from the lobby when it finally comes out. It’s stupid – he already has all the original photos uploaded to his computer, but for some reason he feels the need to see the finished product. As he slowly flips through the images, he can’t help but wonder how many other men (and women) have already done so – how many have already seen Stiles exposed like this.

His surge of jealousy isn’t enough to kill his steadily growing boner, though. Really, he thought he’d be desensitized after having seen the photos so many times by now, but somehow Stiles never gets any less alluring.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will it down, but all he can think about is Stiles teasing him about getting laid while sprawled out and practically naked.

Muttering a curse, he pops open the button on his jeans and thanks god that he has a private office. He strokes his cock slowly, wondering how Stiles would have reacted if he’d climbed up there on the bed with him, given him that blowjob he was asking for. Fuck, Stiles would look so good on Derek’s cock, panties shoved down around his thighs and his bright red lipstick smeared.

He’d look good over Derek too, though, grinding down on top of him or – shit, Derek’s been dying to get those gorgeous fingers inside his ass since he’d first seen Stiles. Honestly, Derek never thought getting fucked by a guy in thigh highs and lacy panties would be a turn on, but somehow it is.

“Hey, Derek – ” an all too familiar voice says and Derek only has a split second to panic as he wonders if he’d locked his office door before Stiles comes barging in.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he hisses, cheeks flushed and voice breathy as he tries to cover himself up. “Didn’t you parents teach you to knock?”

“Is that my magazine?” Stiles blurts out, completely ignoring Derek’s – admittedly rhetorical – question. “Shit, were you – are you – ”

Before Derek can explain himself or even get a word in edgewise, Stiles is striding over and tilting the magazine away – just enough to see Derek’s flushed cock and a photo of his own smirking face and lace-clad ass.

“So, you reject all my advances but then go masturbate to pictures of me,” Stiles snorts, and Derek’s surprised to hear such venom in Stiles’ voice. “Well, I guess this is why I’m a model and not a fucking actor or something. No one actually wants to hear me talk.”

“Stiles, what – ” Derek starts, grabbing onto Stiles’ wrist on instinct when he tries to walk away.

“Oh my god, seriously? Can we not do this?” Stiles snaps. “You’ve already made clear what you think of my horrible attempts at flirting, so – ”

“You were flirting with me?” Derek blurts out, and Stiles gives him an incredulous look.

“I practically propositioned you!” Stiles exclaims, but he doesn’t try to pull away from Derek’s grip.

“I thought that was how you acted around everyone,” Derek admits, and Stiles’ expression softens a little bit.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles huffs, but he leans in to press his lips against Derek’s. Derek can’t help but moan, pressing back against Stiles’ lips and slipping his tongue into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and he leans closer, moaning softly as he kisses back.

“So,” Stiles says when they finally pull apart, and Derek’s pleased to note that his breathing’s a little labored. “Do you want me to help you take care of that?”

He gives Derek’s still-hard cock a significant look.

“Is that you propositioning me?” Derek asks, lips quirking up into a small smile.

“Fuck you,” Stiles grumbles, but he’s already sinking to his knees in front of Derek.

“When we have lube and a bed,” Derek replies, making Stiles look up at him in surprise.

“I’m holding you to that,” Stiles murmurs before wrapping his lips around the head of Derek’s cock.

A soft groan echoes through the room as Derek fists his hand in Stiles’ hair, hardly able to believe that this is actually happening – that Stiles in sucking him off in his office. He’s certain it’s not going to take long, though, but he can’t really bring himself to feel embarrassed. He’s wanted this for so long.

“Fuck,” Derek gasps as Stiles takes him deeper, sucking expertly and working his tongue along the underside of his cock. “Fuck, do you know how hard it was for me to do that shoot?”

Stiles moans around Derek, which he takes as encouragement.

“The entire time I was trying not to get hard,” he admits, stroking a thumb along Stiles’ cheek. “I wanted to suck you off, fuck you, rim you, ride you. There’s so fucking much I want to – ”

Stiles sucks a little harder then, cutting of Derek’s train of thought as his hips twitch forward. He’s about to apologize, but Stiles grasps his ass, encouraging Derek to fuck forward into his hot, wet mouth. It doesn’t take long after that, though, a few thrusts and Derek’s spilling down Stiles’ throat. He almost wants to go again as he watches Stiles swallow every last drop and then pull off with an obscene pop.

“Did you jerk off once you got home?” Stiles asks as he crawls into Derek’s lap, his voice rough and his cock straining at his jeans.

“I didn’t even make it that far,” Derek admits, unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans and shoving them down. “I had to do it in the bathroom – ”

He cuts himself off and stares down at Stiles’ flushed cock – which is covered by nothing but red lace panties. Ones he doesn’t recognize from the shoot.

“You like ‘em?” Stiles asks, his voice a little breathy. Derek doesn’t respond for a moment, his eyes fixed on the small scrap of fabric, a damp spot from Stiles’ precome.

“Where – ?” is all Derek manages, unable to get out anything else.

“I have a, ah, _personal collection_ ,” Stiles answers, a wicked grin on his face. “I could show you sometime.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Derek groans, snaking a hand into the front of Stiles’ panties and stroking him. The way the lace scratches against his hand should feel weird, but instead it just makes everything better.

“You should try a pair on sometime,” Stiles pants, trying to fuck up into Derek’s hand. “And if I don’t have anything your size, we could go shopping.”

Derek lets out a ragged breath at the thought of lace against his skin, rubbing up against his cock. Yeah, that’s definitely something he could get behind.

“That sounds – ” Derek says, speeding up his strokes a bit. “That sounds amazing. How do they feel, rubbing against you all day?”

Stiles lets out a little moan his head dropping against Derek’s shoulder.

“Can you get hard just from wearing them?” Derek asks, pumping Stiles’ cock as Stiles’ nails bite into his shoulders. “Do you wear them in public a lot?”

“Yeah,” Stiles murmurs, nodding.

“You want someone to catch you, don’t you?” Derek continues. “That’s why you wear them all the time. You like – ”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by Stiles’ soft cry as he comes all over his underwear and Derek’s hand. Derek strokes him through it, pressing light kisses against Stiles’ lips, until he bats Derek away, oversensitive.

“So,” Stiles starts, his voice still sex-rough. “Do you want to see my collection tonight?”

“Only if you let me take you out to dinner first,” Derek replies.

“Deal,” Stiles answers, grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> _I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site._


End file.
